


Death Under the Arch

by OllyJay, solitary_cyclist



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 07:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11375937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyJay/pseuds/OllyJay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitary_cyclist/pseuds/solitary_cyclist
Summary: Having come to an understanding (of sorts) with Miss Fisher following the Carbone murder, the last thing Jack needed was to be sent to Sydney undercover - leaving City South in the more than capable hands of a handsome, engaging and decidedly single, Senior Detective Inspector from New South Wales.





	1. Out of Kilter

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set between _Murder and Mozzerella_ and _Blood and Money_. The amazing @foxspirit1928 has worked out the timeline for series 3 and there are only a few days between these episodes - which is not quite enough for my fic… so I’m going to have to beg everyone’s indulgence and pretend that Hugh was a couple of days behind in his police bulletin reading ; )
> 
> [foxspirit1928's timeline](https://foxspirit1928.tumblr.com/post/127793564232/miss-fisher-timeline-s3-the-timeline-of-s3-is)
> 
> Many thanks to solitary_cyclist for reviewing this probably too long fic xxx

His back hit the wall of the pylon. Eyes wide, he held trembling hands out in silent supplication.

The man, standing directly in front of him, snarled, “Nothing to say for yourself?"

He shook his head. The man raised a hand, and he instinctively jerked away, knocking his head against the granite. Hard.

With a derisive snort the man snatched the cap from his head before directing a comment at the two men lurking in the background, “Get him out of my sight.”

He watched the man walk away, but any relief was fleeting as he caught sight of the two that remained, pacing back and forth, their excitement palpable, ghoulish grins on their faces. Eyes widening even further, he looked from one to the other, but they had not a shred of mercy between them. As they pulled out their razor blades he cowered in a pointless attempt to protect himself.

The last thing he saw was the graceful arch sweeping up into the sky.

* * *

Sydney Harbour Bridge under construction circa 1929.

* * *

* * *

Note 1: The pylons are the four tower like structures at each end of the bridge. They are concrete with a granite facing. They were originally built to hide the inner workings of the bridge due to public concerns about its structural integrity.

Note 2: In 1927 New South Wales introduced severe penalties for carrying concealed guns, so the razor became the weapon of choice for the gangs of Sydney.

* * *

Senior Detective Inspector Donald Broadbent of the New South Wales Police Force was in his early thirties, slightly above average height, lean, dark haired with a pleasingly olive complexion. His eyes were an unusual hazel green and his cheekbones simply to die for. Phryne’s eyes rested on the man sitting in the chair across from the desk for exactly as long as it took to say a polite hello before returning to her Inspector. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not really at liberty to say, Miss Fisher,” replied Jack, having apparently discovered something fascinating in the patina of his desk.

“That makes no sense. How will I know where you are if I need you?” she looked at the other policeman, “For a case.”

Broadbent gave a wide pleasant smile that crinkled his eyes and made his dimples stand out, “Whilst Inspector Robinson is unavailable I’ll be more than happy to assist you in every way possible, Miss Fisher.”

Jack lifted his eyes, tilted his head towards his colleague and watched her closely, “There you go, you’ll never even miss me.”

Phryne didn’t sniff (because a lady never would) but if you knew her (and Jack knew her very well) then you could tell that was exactly what she did. “No offence intended, Detective,” her eyes came back to Jack, searching for and finding his, “but that is highly unlikely.”

“None taken, Miss Fisher,” Broadbent said pleasantly. He had heard about the alluring Miss Fisher and was more than happy to admit that he was looking forward to working with the Lady Detective.

“A slow week, Miss Fisher?” Jack held her gaze this time.

She plonked herself down on his desk, effectively putting her back to Broadbent, and threw a yearning glance at the pile of files on his desk, “Well, it looks like you could do with all the help you can get.”

“That is very true, Miss Fisher and I’m sure Inspector Broadbent will be grateful for your help and if, between the two of you, this pile is cleared for me in my absence, I will be exceptionally grateful.”

Sensing she would get nowhere Phryne stood to take her leave of them both. When Broadbent held her hand for longer than strictly necessary, she fought the urge to snatch it back. After all, it was not his fault he was the wrong policeman.

* * *

It had been a long day and, as he walked out the station door, Jack was looking forward to whiskey when he got home. Not too many though because he had a long trip ahead of him tomorrow. At least he was leaving his station in capable hands. Broadbent was an outstanding police officer and he would work well with her. He gave an inward groan, Broadbent was also incredibly handsome, single and, as he could attest after spending an entire day with him, very engaging. He brought his hand up to rub at his temples. He and Miss Fisher had come to an understanding after the Carbone murder but they hadn’t yet worked out the exact nature of their relationship so, whilst he believed her affections to be deeper than a momentary distraction, being sent undercover in Sydney for an unspecified number of weeks was less than ideal.

“Headache, Jack?” the voice came from the shadows of the station wall.

He didn’t bother to look at her, “No, Miss Fisher just contemplating my journey tomorrow.”

She fell into step beside him, “About that…”

He held up his hand, interrupting her, “Take me back to Wardlow, give me whiskey and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

So she did, and he did, and it was agreed that they would drive to Sydney tomorrow, together.

* * *

“The record for a private car on the Hume Highway is fourteen hours,” she declared gaily as they headed out of Melbourne City, “some racing cars have done it in around twelve hours, but they were averaging around sixty miles per hour.”

“Good to know, Miss Fisher,” Jack said from behind the steering wheel.

“The Hispano can do around eighty five miles per hour, but if we factor in the stretch of poor road the other side of Gundagai and your inability to drive above fifty miles per hour, I estimate it will take us at least thirteen.”

“I _may_ be able to cope with fifty five miles per hour once we're on the open road.”

She laughed, “Just do your best, Inspector. I'll make up the difference when it's my turn to drive.”

He grimaced.

“I’ve been thinking, Jack… I suppose… when we get to the Sydney, we'll need to pretend we haven't met,” she said.

“Not necessarily,” he replied, wondering where she was going with this, “What have you got in mind?”

She leaned towards him, face alight with mischief, “I was thinking it could be fun if we were old friends.”

Jack almost laughed, how typical, only he would manage to go from strictly business to old friend without any of the fun in-between.

Too excited to notice his reaction Phryne carried on speaking, “For obvious reasons you need to appear to be a single man, however I need to be able to watch your back, so if I were to show up as your recently spurned lover, a woman who is determined to get you back… well, it's the perfect explanation for me keeping a close eye on you,” she finished proudly.

Jack nodded absent-mindedly; trying to process her use of the phrase  _appear_ to be a single man.

Heartened by his lack of argument she continued, “I think you should keep the Hispano too, it'll enable you to get around freely and also, add credence to your cover as a man about town.”

He finally managed to catch up, “She is a lot more fun to drive than my normal car.”

“You'd enjoy her a whole lot more, Jack, if you could force yourself to go slightly faster,” she said, throwing him a look that made his heart flip.

“I could maybe go up to sixty,” he replied putting his foot down a little harder.

Phryne threw herself back in the seat dramatically, hands flying up in the air as though struggling against the wind created by his increase in speed, and they both laughed.

“No… sorry, Jack, honestly, every little bit helps but, as I said earlier, I really don't mind making up the difference. I am quite determined to get us there.”

She faced out to watch the countryside whizzing past and grinned.

Jack spent the next fifteen minutes replaying everything she had said in the last five minutes, hoping he wasn't reading too much into it.

* * *

They swapped drivers at Kyeamba.

Years of snatching sleep whenever the opportunity arose had Jack slouched in the seat beside her within five minutes. She put her foot down on the accelerator even harder, she wasn’t quite as patient as she’d led him to believe, and… what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. This whole relationship thing was turning out to be harder than she had hoped, it appeared you didn’t just tell someone you were going to _make do_ with them and instantly everything was resolved. The dance seemed, if anything, even slower now but she was determined not to rush - she needed to get this right. Taking her frustrations out on the accelerator they reached Gundagai, the halfway point, surprisingly quickly.

Jack was dreaming. Dreaming of a dark haired woman with flawless pale skin and bright blue eyes. He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned towards it, dipping his head to hold it captive, nuzzling into it. The pressure on his shoulder increased as she leaned in and he could feel her warmth close by his ear.

“Jack, wake up.”

“No,” his breath whispered across the back of her hand like a caress. 

“It’s your turn to drive, Jack.” 

Her words floated around his mind. “What?” 

“We’re at Gundagai.” 

He lifted his head releasing her hand, pleased when she made no effort to remove it. Opening his eyes he was disorientated, blinking in the unexpected sunlight. _This_ was not where he thought he was, he turned his head but _she_ was who he had thought he was with. He smiled at her gently, “Hello.” He heard her sharp intake of breath and he reached out a hand, intent on guiding a strand of her hair behind her ear. Just before the tips of his fingers touched her skin he registered the widening of her eyes and he stilled. “What’s the matter?” 

There was silence for a moment, then, “I think, Inspector, it might be best if you went for a walk.” 

Jack stared at her, confused. He looked around to find they were in the main street of a reasonably busy town and the enormity of his mistake struck him. Fumbling at the door handle he practically fell out on the pavement in his haste to create some distance between them. Blushing, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes so, as he grabbed his hat off the back seat, he mumbled in her general direction, “My apologies, Miss Fisher, that was…” His voice faded away, not sure how to explain. He risked a quick glance only to find she was sitting straight in her seat looking at the road ahead. 

“It’s fine, Inspector. Why don’t you see if you can find some food for us?” Her tone was distant. 

“I’ll just head up here, then,” he said, weakly. 

She nodded. 

What, Jack asked himself as he chose a random direction and started to walk, was the one thing you shouldn’t do when dealing with a woman who has spent years avoiding romantic entanglement? I know - how about _not staring_ at her like a love struck fool - you bloody idiot!

She watched him in the rear view mirror until he disappeared into a doorway, then she let her head fall down to rest on the steering wheel. My God _,_ she thought, was that what it would be like to have him wake up next to her? The intimacy of the moment had been unexpected, overwhelming and she had not handled it well. It had however, convinced her more than ever, that this was something worth having. She took five deep calming breaths, sat up straight, opened her door and stepped out. With a glance back at the way Jack had gone she very purposely headed in completely the opposite direction. 

* * *

Thirty minutes later they were back in the car and Jack was driving. The road had got noticeably rougher and he found himself having to avoid potholes and other obstacles. It was not easy going which was a fairly accurate reflection of how he was feeling. Distracted, he failed to avoid a hole in the road and the whole car bounced in an uncomfortable way. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, Jack,” she assured him, “there’s more potholes than road at the moment.” 

Jack nodded, that was a very fair statement. 

After another forty minutes of slow going they hit a patch of decent road and were moving quickly again. Possibly, and as she thought it she was fully aware of the irony, _too_ quickly. Jack was driving at somewhere close to sixty five miles per hour. Clearly their encounter at Gundagai had unsettled him too. She thought back to how she had responded. Considering everything she knew about him, if she didn't act quickly, it was possible he would withdraw to the known boundaries of their professional relationship. 

Reaching across she laid her hand on his arm, “It’s fine, Jack. Honestly.” With his eyes front and concentrating, at first she thought he had not heard her, then she felt the tension fade in his arm as his hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel and he eased off the accelerator.

After a while he shot an enquiring glance at her. She smiled. He smiled shyly back. 

* * *

They swapped drivers for the last time at Goulburn and Phryne took the wheel. 

She spent the first thirty minutes thinking about the case before informing Jack of the plan. “We can’t be seen turning up at the Australia together.” 

He nodded. 

“So, I’ll stay at the Wentworth tonight.” 

He nodded again. 

“You take the Hispano and try to get an introduction to Matthews and his daughter.” 

“I don’t need the Hispano, you keep it.” 

“No,” she corrected him, “the Hispano establishes you as a wealthy man about town, trust me – you need it. Matthews is a car enthusiast, he will be drooling over the chance to look at it so make sure you mention it as soon as you can. And Jack…” she gave him a long considered look, “there is nothing more likely to turn a young lady’s head than the offer from a handsome man of a jaunt in his sports car, so it may present you with an _opportunity_.” 

“Whilst I appreciate the insight, Miss Fisher, I won’t be taking any jaunts unless you’re in the car too,” he said firmly. 

“I think Miss Matthews might have something to say about that.” It would be untrue to pretend the thought of Jack with another woman was anything but a little bit too raw at the moment. And anyway, he was an excellent investigator; there was no need for him to rely on his good looks to get the information they needed. “Feel free though to take the father on a jaunt without me, I don’t think he’s any threat to your virtue.” 

“It’s not like you to jump to conclusions like that, Miss Fisher,” he chided her, “his wife died nearly five years ago and he’s never remarried. He may not be as immune to my charms as you think.” 

She threw back her head laughing with delight, “Now _that_ is something I admit I had not considered.” She leaned toward him and said dramatically, “I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on him and let you know if I see any signs that he is falling in love with you.” 

Jack sat back in the seat, more than a little pleased with himself, it was good to be able to surprise her. 

In the end, with stops, poor roads and Jack’s driving, it took them closer to fourteen hours to complete their drive from Melbourne to Sydney.

* * *

Jack’s luck was in from the moment he stepped into the Hotel reception. At the counter talking with the Concierge was a short, wiry man in his mid-fifties who had that air of confidence that surrounds a self made man. Jack knew it was Matthews straight away. Aiming for obvious, when the Manager greeted him, Jack dropped the car key onto the counter ensuring that the Hispano badge was visible. “I’ve just come in from Melbourne, can you get someone to clean my car before tomorrow? It’s the red Hispano.” 

The Manager gave a small bow, “Of course, sir.” 

“An Hispano? Not many of those in these parts.” Matthews said politely, eyes alight with interest. 

“I’ve only seen one other,” Jack, turned to face Matthews, “Mine’s a 1923 46CV, top speed 85 miles an hour but she’s gone faster.” That, he knew, was not a lie. 

“You drove her here from Melbourne? How’d she handle?” 

“Like a dream. Hang on, I need to sort this bloke out.” Jack, straightening up, faced back towards the Manager. 

The Manager, giving Matthews an apologetic bow, pushed the Register to Jack, “If I could just have your details, sir.” 

Jack grabbed the pen off him, and looking over his shoulder, he spoke to Matthews, “You on your way out, mate?” 

Matthews nodded towards the hotel bar, “Just thinking of having a quiet one, come over if you like - when you're done here.” 

Jack scrawled his details into the Register, grabbed his keys and headed in the direction Matthews had gone. He found him on a seat at the bar; he approached, holding out his hand. “John Robertson, Melbourne.” 

The hand that took his was small, but the grip was firm. “Ian Matthews, Sydney. My shout,” he waved the barman over. 

Jack glanced down at the schooner in front of Matthews, “I’m guessing that’s not Victoria Bitter?” 

Matthews snorted good naturedly before speaking to the barman, “Grab us another Reschers, mate?” As they waited for the beer to arrive he asked, “You follow the league, John?” 

Jack shook his head, “Did I mention I was from Melbourne?” 

“Fair point.” 

“Big game on this weekend then?” 

Matthews nodded, “North Sydney playing, I own the team.” 

“Nice,” Jack said appreciatively, “Hang on, aren’t you the ones whose coach has gone walkabout? Heard about that, even in Victoria.” 

Matthews scowled. “Man is trouble, a brilliant tactician but…” Jack didn’t attempt to hide his interest but Matthews had clearly rethought how much he was going to share. “…bloody Irish, probably just on the turps somewhere.” 

“In any event, can’t be easy to lose your coach at this point in the season.” 

Matthews downed the remainder of his beer and waved his empty glass in the air. As the barman hurried across with a refill, he said, “You got that right, John, it has been a damn inconvenient year. Now, tell me more about that beaut car you got…”

* * *

The real luxury, Jack reflected, was not the softness of the linen against his bare skin or the warmth of the feather filled continental; it was that he did not have to get up. Mumbling with pleasure into the well-filled pillows, he turned on to his back letting the covers slip from his shoulders down his chest. A swish of cloth. He froze. Surely not? He sniffed. Unbelievable. “Miss Fisher? Really?” he rumbled, eyes still shut. 

Her voice was strangely muffled, “Sorry, Jack.” 

It occurred to him that she must be facing the wall. His lip curled in amusement and he opened his eyes. 

“It is seven o’clock,” she said defensively to the wall. 

Making no attempt to get out of bed, Jack said conversationally, “Most people would have knocked on the door.” 

“I’m a woman spurned, Jack – the actions of _most people_ are not going to apply to me.” It was obvious she was feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Do you think you could get up and join me in the other room?” 

He sighed - instead of dragging him into bed she was in fact dragging him out. “Of course, Miss Fisher. Far be it from me to take this rare opportunity to sleep in. Would you mind if I put some clothes on first?” She made a strange noise and scuttled from the bedroom. It was, he thought, highly amusing to see her embarrassed. 

A couple of minutes later a disheveled Jack walked into the room. He had thrown on a pair of running shorts and a singlet, made some attempt to arrange his hair but his feet were bare and he was unshaven. He had a pair of sneakers in his hand. Sinking into the nearest chair, his voice still raspy from sleep, he said, “Tell me, what was so urgent you needed to break into my room?” 

Her mind went entirely blank and she gaped at him, swallowing hard, trying to exert control over the way her body was reacting to him. 

“Miss Fisher?” he drew his eyebrows together, concerned at her lack of response, “Has something happened?” 

“What?” she forced herself to react to his enquiry, “No, nothing has happened, I just thought we should de…” her voice faded away as she realised the double entente she had almost said, “…we should talk about yesterday and discuss our plan for today.” 

He nodded, “Shall I ring through for a pot of tea? We’ll have to share a cup, but I expect we’ll manage.” 

“A cup of tea is exactly what I need,” she agreed. 

Jack stood to call room service, requesting toast with the large pot of tea. As he put the phone down he began to tell her of his fortuitous meeting with Matthews. “He seems a good enough bloke,” Jack remarked, “angry at the loss of his coach but clever enough not to let on how serious it is.” 

Phryne nodded, “I assume he was told by the Sydney police to keep that quiet at this stage?” 

“It’s an open investigation, always best to hold back as many details as possible. The razors indicate gang involvement but are they the brains or merely enforcers?” 

“You don’t think Matthews is involved?” 

Jack pondered on his impressions of the man, “I’d like to think he wasn’t.” 

There was a knock at the door, Jack motioned for her to go into the bedroom. 

Phryne, having made sure she wasn’t in line of sight, surveyed the room; Jack’s suit from last night was thrown haphazardly across the back of the chair, shoes discarded where they had been taken off, socks chucked vaguely in their direction. Strewn across the dresser were the contents of his toilet bag, possibly from his attempt at his hair this morning, it was hard to tell. The bed linen was still open from where he had so recently risen. It was a surprise to find that her Inspector was not the meticulously tidy man she had always thought him – the never-ending mystery deepens, how delicious she thought. Her eyes lingered on the open bedclothes. The sound of the door shutting roused her and, taking a deep breath, she sauntered back into the other room. 

“Help yourself,” Jack pointed at breakfast. 

She poured a cup of tea and buttered a slice of toast, finishing with a generous layer of marmalade. “Have you plans to meet with Matthews again?” she asked. 

“In about ten minutes I’m going to head downstairs…” he began to put on his socks, “… and ask the Concierge for directions to the nearest running track…” he put on his shoes “…Matthews is going to overhear me and suggest I accompany him on his run around the gardens.” He tied off his laces, reaching across to pluck the half eaten toast from her hand. “What do you think of that?” he asked as he bit down. 

She grinned as she buttered another slice of toast, “I think you should thank me for waking you up.”

* * *

Phryne was sitting in the hotel foyer, reading the Sydney Morning Herald when Jack and Matthews returned from their run. By the state of them a fair amount of harmless competitiveness must have occurred because they both looked spent. It crossed her mind that, if there was ever a time that Matthews would find Jack’s charms hard to resist, now would be that time. Panting, his complexion highlighted with the pink tinge of exertion and hair falling unhindered across his forehead. She let her eyes devour him before turning to Matthews, only to find he was staring at her, clearly shocked by her blatant appreciation of the man beside him. 

“I tell you what, John,” he made no attempt at subtlety because there had been nothing subtle about Phryne’s look, “there is a good looking sheila over there that is yours for the taking, if you want her.” 

Jack stared at him, uncomprehending, before following his gaze to see her smiling over the now lowered paper. He groaned. 

Matthews looked at him in surprise, “Don’t tell me she’s not your type because…” he looked back at her, his admiration obvious, “…unless…” he gave Jack a long considering stare. 

Jack narrowed his eyes at the unspoken question, “Don’t be bloody stupid, do I look like I am?” 

Matthews shrugged, "It's not always obvious. Still…” he nodded to where Phryne continued to watch them.

“She’s an _old friend_ and take it from me, far more trouble than she’s worth,” Jack explained, turning his back on her very definitively. 

Phryne retaliated by lifting her paper back up and beginning to read again. 

Matthews let his breath whistle through his teeth, “Then she must be one hell of a lot of trouble.” 

Jack made his way to the Concierge at the reception desk, “Excuse me, is that woman over there, the one pretending to read the paper, is she a guest here?” 

The man, after a servile nod at Matthews replied, “She is indeed, sir, why she’s only just this minute arrived. A Miss…” he opened the Register, “…Philomena Robinson.” 

Jack rolled his eyes. Striding across the room, leaning close to her ear, “You are supposed to pick a name that is similar to yours,” he growled. 

“Philly _is_ close to Phryne,” she turned her face towards his, grinning. The view of his clenched jaw from this close was spectacular she acknowledged. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” That familiar mischievous sparkle in her eyes was making it difficult for him to remember he was supposed to be scolding her. 

She shrugged, delighted to have got such a strong reaction out of him. “I’ll try to remember for next time.” He wasn’t angry, she could see the smile at the edge of his lips and in the corners of his eyes. 

He stepped back, “There won’t be a next time, Philly,” he said loud enough for Matthews to hear him. 

She pouted and watched him as he walked away. 

Matthews intercepted him, “Will you join us for breakfast…” he looked at his watch, “…in say, forty minutes?” 

“I’d be delighted.” 

“Good,” he gave a meaningful glance across at Phryne who was still watching Jack, “and you have got to tell me that story.”

* * *

As Jack took his shower he half hoped she would break into his room again, but of course he wouldn’t be that lucky and if she did it would no doubt be to talk about the case. She wouldn’t, for example find herself so overcome by the sight of his wet, naked body that she would jump into the shower with him. No, she’d want to discuss what type of blade had been used, how many assailants there had been and whether the location where the body had been found (at the base of the currently under construction bridge across the harbour) was a clue to the case. He dried himself off (the thickness of the towel was a revelation), any designs he had on exploring the physical side of this new relationship with Miss Fisher seemed to be constantly blocked by the murder. 

Jack stopped – shocked. Had he really just thought that? He checked, it was true. For the first time he could ever recall he didn’t care about solving the murder. 

Grabbing the dressing gown he had found in the bathroom (where did you buy things like this?) he wandered into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Damn it, he simply could not get her out of his head. And now it would seem he would prefer to have her in his bed than bother to solve a murder. He heard a light furtive tap on the door and groaned, clearly he wasn’t going to be given time to work through this, but at least she had knocked this time. He heard the door open and close, though apparently the concept of waiting to be invited in was still unknown. 

“Jack?” he could tell she was lingering in the other room not wanting to invade his privacy again. He looked down at himself, the fluffy robe really did look good against his tanned and toned flesh, which was no doubt the reason for her recently discovered scruples. It was as though the Fates had decreed he could either solve the murder, or sleep with the woman, but he couldn’t do both. 

“I’ve just got out of the shower, give me a moment,” he called out. He grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe, chucking them heedlessly on the bed where some promptly slipped to the floor. Casual dressing was not his forte and these were new clothes courtesy of the Sydney Police Force so he really had no idea what went with what. He grabbed the first pair of trousers he found, hazarding a guess at the shirt, and still fiddling with the cufflinks (why would anyone have these damn things instead of buttons?) he walked into the room. 

Phryne took one look at him. “Jack, no!” practically frog marching him back in to the bedroom so she could restyle his entire wardrobe. 

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later (Phryne had assured him the very fashionable never turned up on time) a very dapper Jack took a seat beside Matthews and his daughter. As he did, it occurred to Jack that if the mother had looked anything like the daughter, he had just worked out why Matthews had never bothered to remarry. 

The young woman was chatting away about some upcoming examinations. Endeavouring to make small talk, a skill that he ranked right up there with his abilities in respect of casual clothes, Jack enquired, “What is it that you study, Miss Matthews?” 

She turned keen blue eyes on him, “Law, Mr Robertson.” 

He put down his knife and fork, an action that anyone who knew him would recognise as intense interest, and began to question her in earnest. “Here at Sydney Uni?” She nodded. “How far through your degree are you? What are you specialising in?” It rapidly turned into an interrogation which made Jack far more comfortable and put Miss Matthews off not one bit. 

Matthews sat back with a happy smirk on his face as the two of them careened off into a world of their own. He had known the moment he had set eyes on Robertson that there was more to the man than his careless man about town persona suggested. Scanning the room for the ex-lover he was not surprised to find her watching, with evident concern, the rapport between John and his daughter. Matthews easily inserted himself back into the conversation. “I tell you what John, we’ve got a bit of time before we need to head to the grounds for the pre-match gig… how about a spin in that car of yours?” 

Jack gave a slow easy smile, “Shall we meet in the foyer in say fifteen minutes?” 

As soon as Matthews and his daughter left, Phryne joined him at the table. “It’s at times like this my cover as scorned lover is ideal.” 

He pretended to scowl at her, but she could see the smile underneath. “We’re going for a drive.” 

“Oh, so you have found an _opportunity_ after all,” she tried not to sound too upset.   

“What?” he looked confused, then the penny dropped, “No, nothing like that,” he assured her, “we’re all going, the three of us. Don’t worry, I’m sure her father’s presence will act as a deterrent in respect of any nefarious plans she may have on my person.” 

Phryne smiled. 

“We need to tread carefully around her,” he warned, “She strikes me as very perceptive.” 

“If she’s as clever as you think, she’ll know exactly why I’m not willing to let you slip through my fingers,” she leaned in until her lips were ghosting across his ear, “Inspector.”

Jack, his body reacting to both her tone and closeness, shivered. 

* * *

* * *

Note 3: The Hume Highway runs between Melbourne and Sydney. In 1929 it was 565 miles of unsealed road. It was used from 1905 to the 1930's for unauthorised speed trials and in his  _Motoring Guide_ published in 1929 George Broadbent (an important figure in the history of the car and roads in Australia) states that the road could be driven in less than 12 hours though he recommends five days. In April 1929, Mr Harry Greville drove an enclosed car, with two lady passengers, in 14 hours and 20 minutes. Out of interest, George Broadbent (1863 – 1947) was an early car enthusiast and both a Victorian and Australian road cycling champion.

Note 4: Unfortunately neither the Australia or Wentworth hotels are still in existence. The Australia Hotel was opened in 1891 and was the premier hotel in Sydney. It was demolished in 1971. The Wentworth was knocked down and a more modern hotel built on its site.

Note 5: The first woman law graduate from Sydney University was Ada Evans in 1899 but there were no further graduates until 1924 and, unfortunately, the lack of support from their peers or lecturers made it hard yakka.

Note 6: Hard yakka is a term used in Australia and New Zealand meaning something is hard work.


	2. A Slight Dissonance

Matthews was circling the Hispano like an excited schoolboy, when Jack held the keys out, he snatched them with a wide grin. Climbing into the driver's seat, he turned to his daughter in the back, “Anywhere in particular, Angel?”

“The waterfront?”

Jack caught the slight hesitation before he started the car, but when he spoke his voice was normal, “Great idea.”

“Do you know much about the bridge, Mr Robertson?” she enquired politely as her father navigated onto the busy road.

Jack turned in his seat to speak to her, “I’d heard of it but you have to see it to appreciate what an impressive undertaking it is.”

“There will be tram lines as well as cars, so a true alternative to the ferry. And, it has created jobs. In addition to the workers you’ll see at the base of each of the pylons, there are 250 stonemasons and their families living 180 miles south of here. The concrete has come from Tasmania, steel from Newcastle and the rivets that hold the whole thing together are from your hometown. This time next year the two sides of the arch will meet, and two years after that it will be complete…"

As the lecture continued it occurred to Jack that Miss Matthews was as good at small talk as he was.

Matthews slowed down as they approached the construction site and it became obvious that no work was proceeding today.

Miss Matthews leaned towards her father, “What’s happened? Where is everyone?”

“I’m sorry, Angel, I should have told you earlier…” he looked at Jack, clearly making the decision to take him into his confidence, “there’s been an unfortunate death, the police suspect murder.”

There was a gasp, “O’Kane?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Jack turned in his seat, ready to offer assistance, but although her face was pale she seemed in no need of consolation.

“He was an awful man.”

Jack was almost as surprised by the cold tone in which she spoke as he was by the words themselves.

“Maybe so, Angel,” her father replied, “but he was done in by one of the razor gangs so it was neither quick nor easy. I would not have wished it on my worst enemy.”

It was hard to hear over the sudden roar of the engine as Matthews drove on but Jack could have sworn he heard her say “I would. I would wish a long, slow, painful death on him.”

As they pulled back into the hotel, Matthews invited Jack to spend the day with them at the match.

* * *

When he got back to his room he was hardly surprised to find Phryne curled up in a chair reading one of his books. “Here,” he chucked a key to her, “I told the Concierge I had mislaid mine.”

She caught it, grinning.

Jack scribbled a name down on the pad supplied by the hotel, “Any chance you can get down to the local station and speak to this officer? Get him to check Matthews' business interests in the bridge construction?”

She nodded, putting the note in her pocket.

“Also, why would a young, intelligent woman be wishing a slow painful death on the coach of her father’s rugby league team?” he asked as he sat on the settee across from her.

She raised an eyebrow, “Did O’Kane have a criminal record?”

Jack shrugged, “Not that Broadbent mentioned,” his eyes flicked to her pocket, “you better add that to the list.”

“Of course, there are certain crimes that you may not want to involve the police in?” she mused.

This time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Crimes of a more personal nature against a daughter, or a wife…”

“I have absolutely no doubt Matthews would kill for his daughter and there’s nothing to suggest he wouldn’t have done the same for his wife.”

“Is he a good man, do you think, Jack?”

He considered her question deeply before answering, “Yes, I think he is a very good man.”

“Well, lets hope it isn’t him.”

He tilted his head in agreement. “I’ve been invited to the game, including the pre-match,” he said casually.

“Good, we need to meet more suspects. Will the players be at the pre-match?”

“Yes, and no doubt there will be drinks laid on after the game. I’ll try to strike up a conversation though I don’t actually know anything about league.”

“Why don’t I see if I can get an invite?”

He smirked, “Know a lot about league, do you, Miss Fisher?”

“You would be surprised what I know,” she taunted, voice low and eyes full of promise.

Admittedly it took some effort, but he did manage to keep his mind on the case - just. “See if you can get an invite. I’ll focus on the new coach, maybe O’Kane was blocking his professional advancement.” Jack gazed into the distance for a moment, reviewing the facts in his mind. “This whole thing stinks.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why am I here? Why couldn’t one of the local police handle this?” his eyes searched hers for the answer.

“Because of Sanderson? You have a reputation now of being unbribable?” she suggested.

“Sanderson never tried to bribe me,” he pointed out.

“Because he knew it would be a waste of time,” she said. “But he did take you off the case, order you not to interfere and threaten to fire you.”

“So, I’m incorruptible?”

She let her eyes drift down from his eyes to his lips and back, “Oh, I sincerely hope that’s  _not_ the case, Jack.”

This time he found himself unable to pull his eyes away from hers and the threads of the case floated away unheeded. “What, other than breaking into my room again and,” he glanced at the book in her hand, “rifling through my belongings, have you been doing in my absence?”

She gave him a long slow grin, “I have been pining for you, obviously.” She unfolded herself from the chair and stood, straightening her clothes, “But now I've a policeman to talk to and a date to find.”

He grimaced, “Try to go easy on the poor sod.”

“The policeman or my date?”

He shrugged, all of us, he thought.

* * *

The meal had been excellent, Jack thought, as he pushed back from the table making it easier for the waiter to clear his plate. He glanced across to where Phryne sat at another table, her back to him, hand resting easily on the arm of her date. He, of course, was the most handsome man in the room and the captain of the North Sydney team. How she had even managed to meet him in the few hours she had had since they had talked last was beyond him.

“I saw her hanging around at the hotel when I was meeting with Reynolds and sent him over to chat with her. He’ll keep her occupied, she won’t bother you,” Matthews said in a low voice for his ears only.

Ah, one mystery at least solved. “Thanks, but warn Reynolds not to let her get her claws in, extracting them can be a long painful process, believe me.”

“How long were you seeing each other?”

“Not long at all,” Jack thought back to that night he had declared his less than noble intentions, “two months.”

“Crikey, you barely know each other but she’s decided to follow you halfway across the country?”

Miss Matthews entered the conversation. “Melbourne hardly qualifies as being halfway across the country and it’s very rude of you to be asking Mr Robertson these questions.” The reprimand, though gentle, was very much there.

Jack held up his hand, “In your father's defence, Miss Matthews, it’s hard to ignore the fact there is a woman chasing me around the country, his curiosity is only natural.”

“She has such a wonderful confidence about her,” Miss Matthews commented as she gazed at Phryne’s back, “it’s sad to hear she’s convinced herself a man is a prerequisite to happiness.”

It was, Jack felt, a very insightful comment and he wondered if she could see right through Phryne’s cover because honestly, he had never met a woman who needed a man less than she did (well, excepting Dr MacMillan). By the time he thought to respond to her comment she was deeply engaged in conversation with the man on her opposite side.

Matthews caught his attention, “John, this is our new coach…”

There was at least one advantage, he thought, as he turned to Matthews - now that Reynolds was under instruction to court the alluring Philly Robinson, he had no need to meet any of the players. That was clearly an angle she could cover. He glanced across to where Reynolds was running his fingers up and down the bare skin of her back whilst she talked excitedly to one of the other players across the table. He would hope, if he ever got the chance to do that, she’d find it a bit harder to maintain concentration. With some effort he turned his eyes back to the coach and his mind to the murder.

* * *

“Are you enjoying the game, Mr Robertson?” Miss Matthews asked at half time. Her father had disappeared and his guest was standing on his own.

“This is the first time I’ve watched a league game,” he admitted. “Has the new coach done a good job?” He had a feeling she was only speaking to him out of a sense of duty as hostess, still he was willing to take advantage.

“Yes, they seem more coordinated than they have all season. Not everything is working but it’s a good start. It’ll be interesting to see how things develop. For all his faults and his recent run of losses O’Kane was once a great coach.”

“But you didn’t like him?”

“Not many people did,” she said. Catching Jack’s enquiring look, she added, “He was violent when he was drunk, and he was often drunk.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. That was definitely information to discuss later with Phryne. “Something your father said gave me the impression he was a drinker. He didn’t mention he was free with his fists.” He noticed the slight flinch his words had produced. Surely O’Kane hadn’t been foolish enough to strike her? No, he could not imagine a context where that was likely, why would she be alone with him? More likely she had seen the results of his handiwork.

“He was not a pleasant man, and some of his acquaintances even less so.”

“Presumably not part of the club?” Jack had already seen that Matthews promoted a family orientated atmosphere, with wives and children clearly encouraged to participate in the social aspects of the club.

“Father wouldn’t allow them within 100 yards of the club,” she said fiercely.

“So you think his death may have been his own fault?”

She gave him a sharp look and Jack knew he had pushed too far. He could almost hear the shutters going up. “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing, that’s for the police to investigate and determine. Uninformed speculation helps no one and is potentially dangerous of itself.”

Jack felt well and truly reprimanded, “Of course, you’re absolutely right.” The return of the teams to the field was a welcome relief. At full time he did his best to avoid the very insightful Miss Matthews, seeking refuge at the bar where he could watch Phryne with her date and ponder his case - but mainly to watch Phryne.

“It won’t help, you know, staring at her like that.”

Jack turned to find Matthews beside him.

“Though she is by far the most interesting thing in the room, I’ll give her that.”

For a while both men watched as she captivated half the players of both teams.

“You sure you made the right choice, about her?”

Jack thought deeply, “It was not so much a choice as a necessity.”

They watched Phryne drape herself over a man that was definitely not Reynolds.

“You’re better off without her.”

Jack took another drink of his beer.

“So, tell me, what is it you actually do for a crust, John?”

Jack looked uncomfortable, “Nothing really.”

“Living off family money? Lucky you,” Matthews took a sip of his beer.

“Not proud of it,” Jack said defensively as he raised his glass, “was a time I would have sneered at a man who didn’t make his own way.” He stared down into his glass, “Before the war.”

Matthews stilled and Jack continued to stare at the beer as though all the answers were in the foam floating on the top.

After a while Matthews slapped him on the back, “What you need is a good woman, that’s what saved me.”

Jack snorted and took a long pull of his beer, “Choosing women is not my specialty,” he said tilting his head towards where Phryne was dancing scandalously close with Reynolds.

* * *

“Do you even have a room of your own?” Jack asked as he took off his jacket, throwing it carelessly over the back of the settee as he sat down, reaching for the proffered glass of whiskey.

“Of course I do, but yours is much more convenient and has a far better view,” her eyes flicked to the lights of the city clearly visible through the balcony windows before coming back to rest on him.

He took a long sip from his glass, gazing at her from under his eyelashes, “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he assured her.

“Good to know,” she responded, clearly entering that into her _notes on Inspector Robinson_ file.

He wondered how big the file was and how accurate. He hoped it was large and full of detailed information, complete with intimate comments but still a few gaps to provide just enough mystery to remain interesting. And also space, lots of space for whole new chapters to be written, of them, together. He realised he was staring, and with maybe more than a touch of love struck idiot. He dragged his eyes away.

Phryne felt her pulse quicken, there it was again, that look, the one he had given her in the car. She was ready for it this time. But before she could act, he broke eye contact and the moment was gone. Damn it! Back to the case then… “O’Kane was not popular amongst the players, he was inconsistent and there was a feeling that this season his game plan calls were poor, too easily read by the opposition – and that’s why they’ve been losing games.”

“Interesting, especially when you consider that the razor gangs have become increasingly involved in match fixing,” Jack noted.

Phryne nodded, “It would be a convenient solution, dirty coach killed by gangsters for failure to follow instructions…”

He nodded, it would be. He held out the whiskey bottle, “Another?”

Her glass was held out. “So tell me, what did you think of my date?”

“He made some good tackles but his timing was off on attack.”

She gave an exasperated sigh, throwing herself back in the chair, “I think I have heard more than enough after match analysis to last me a life time.” She threw back her whiskey and held it out again.

“He was a good choice of dance partner,” Jack admitted, “Is it a relationship that could run more than one night? Would save me trying to strike up a conversation with the players if you could cover that angle.” He refilled their glasses.

“Are you pimping me out, Inspector Robinson?” she teased.

He went a delightful shade of red, downing his whiskey in one to hide his embarrassment. And refilled his glass.

She laughed, “Don’t worry, as long as I don’t have to _dance_ with more than one of them I think I can handle this assignment.”

Jack sputtered into his glass.

“I’m joking, Jack. This is _dance_ time and I’m here drinking whiskey with you, not making eyes at some Neanderthal whose idea of foreplay is to flex his biceps at me.” She rolled her eyes.

“I could flex my biceps if you like?” Jack offered, realising as he said it that he may have had more to drink at the post-match celebration than was good for him, especially when you added two quick whiskeys on top.

This time it was her turn to sputter into her glass and she rocked forward laughing.

More than a little put out by her reaction he downed his glass and refilled it. “There’s actually nothing wrong with my biceps,” he pointed out.

Still laughing, she shook her head, “I can assure you there isn’t, it’s just the thought of you having to rely on…” she fell into another fit of uncontrollable laughter when Jack, giving her a wink, held up his arm and flexed his bicep.

“Don’t, Jack,” she managed between uncontrollable giggles, holding her stomach as he continued his ridiculous posturing, “don’t make me laugh any more… it hurts.”

He ignored her completely, continuing until he succumbed to her infectious laughter.

When he finally recovered he poured them both more whiskey.

* * *

The first thing Jack noticed was the kink in his neck, swiftly followed by the fact he was fully clothed and lying on the settee. When he attempted to rub his eyes, the fact that his arm was hanging on the floor was brought to his attention as the blood rushed back into his hand. What the… and then it all came flooding back and he looked across to where she was curled up in the arm chair, under the blanket he had a vague memory of putting over her. He let himself enjoy the image for a moment as he recalled their evening. He could not remember laughing so much since… well, for a long time. It dawned on him that he could not afford to lose her. Not from his investigations or his personal life, and so somehow he would need to find a balance between the two.

On that thought, he rose from the settee to change into his running gear. By the time he came back into the room, sitting to lace up his sneakers, she was stirring in the chair. He stood and placed his hand gently on her shoulder, “Go climb into my bed, get some proper sleep. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

She looked up at him, her normally sharp gaze replaced by a softness that gripped at his heart. “Mornin’, Jack.” She drew the blanket tighter across her shoulders, unwinding herself to place her feet on the ground. She looked him up and down, noting his attire. “Have fun,” she mumbled as she stood and wandered into his room.

He forced himself to continue to walk out the door. He had a murder to solve and she would be here when he got back.

Phryne, hearing the door close, found something more comfortable to wear, pulled back the bed linen and slipped into the scent of safe, soothing, cherished. Unsurprisingly she fell immediately into a deep sleep.

* * *

Two hours later Jack walked back into his room to find Phryne fast asleep in his bed. Her dress was in a pile on the floor and, having clearly rifled through his things again, she was wearing one of his undershirts. He stifled a groan, determinedly gathering some clothes and heading to the shower. On his return he found her watching as he stood in front of the mirror doing his hair.

“Hmmm… it takes quite a lot to get it under control,” she remarked, as he started to fight the waves into his normal style.

“I need a haircut.”

“You have beautiful hair.”

Jack looked at her quizzically in the mirror, “I don’t think anyone has ever used that word to describe anything about me before.”

“It is not my fault you have been spending time with the wrong people.”

There was a tap on the door. “Breakfast is served,” he said grandly as he headed to the door. “Join me in the other room?”

When she shuffled out draped in a blanket he raised an eyebrow at her decision not to dress, before pouring tea into the one cup while she buttered the toast.

“Last night I had a bit of a run in with Miss Matthews, in fact she took me quite to task,” he said conversationally.

Phryne, her mouth full of toast, looked at him enquiringly.

“I am not to speculate on the reasons behind O’Kane’s murder even though she described him as a violent drunk.” He rolled his eyes, “It is not helpful to anyone to do so apparently.”

“He has a record, for drunken behaviour, been locked up overnight to sober up. No mention of violence though. I’m having lunch with Reynolds so I’ll dig around, see what I can uncover.”

“I might sound Matthews out on his daughter's animosity towards O’Kane.” He handed her the tea cup, “Where are you going for lunch?”

“Here, they have an excellent menu and I want to stay in control of the situation.”

Jack, toast halfway to his mouth, raised an eyebrow at her unusual caution.

“I’m not always reckless, Jack, in fact sometimes I can be downright sensible.”

“I stand corrected, Miss Fisher. Would you like more tea?” He let himself wonder whether the fact she felt comfortable enough with him to sit nearly naked in his room counted for or against him on the romance scale.

She plucked the toast from his hand, “I think I may need to have a chat with this Miss Matthews.”

He nodded, “Good idea. I don’t seem to have made a very favourable impression.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow, “Interesting?”

He shrugged, “I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“True, but that is not obvious until they get to know you. On first acquaintance your looks alone should be sufficient to create a positive impression.”

Jack tilted his head, eyes amused, “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or a character assassination.”

“Merely an observation, Jack,” she chuckled. “Your dedication to justice can be a bit off-putting. Not to me of course - I find it to be one of your most endearing qualities. Are you going to butter the rest of that toast?”

* * *

Phryne decided the direct approach would be best employed with Miss Matthews. Seeing her alone in the dining room Phryne walked straight over, sat down and offered her hand. “Philly Robinson. I expect you know who I am.”

Miss Matthews immediately accepted her hand, “Cassandra Matthews. I have heard what my father thinks of you but I’m open to being convinced otherwise.”

“Mr Robertson hasn’t mentioned me?”

“Not really, though if you want my opinion he is very much in love with you,” she seemed to weigh up Phryne, “even if it is against his better judgement.”

Oh, thought Phryne, Jack was right, she needed to tread very carefully around this woman.

“Though why you feel the need to chase a man, even one as pleasant as Mr Robertson, around the country is a mystery to me. One I’d be keen to hear your side of,” she continued.

“If you knew him better you’d understand. I’ve known a lot of men but none like him.” As always she kept as close to the truth as possible.

“You’ve come this far on your own and surely you’re too old to want children?”

Phryne chuckled, Miss Matthews was even more direct than she had expected.

“I’ve managed alright to date but, as you’ll find yourself one day, there comes a time when your looks begin to fade and no one wants an old spinster at their dinner table. Then, you need to be part of a couple, if you want anything resembling a social life. I need to secure that future before I find myself a less than attractive party prospect.”

“Is that the sum of you then, a pretty bauble on the social scene? I thought there would be more than that to you.”

“I am older than you, Miss Matthews, not all your opportunities were available to me.”

She lowered her eyes, accepting the truth in that statement.

“My purpose in approaching you is to ask whether I should view you as competition in respect of Mr Robertson.” Phryne stated baldly.

She raised her eyes again, “Not unless it is in competition with him for your affections.”

Phryne held her gaze for some time, assessing, “I admire your honesty, and I am flattered, but such a relationship would definitely not secure my position in Society.”

Miss Matthews tilted her head in acceptance, “My father has just walked in, please excuse me,’ she stood and held out her hand, “I wish you luck in your chosen endeavour.”

Phryne shook her hand and watched her walk away. She wondered if O’Kane had known of Miss Matthews sexual preference.

“Was she bothering you, Angel?” Matthews let his eyes rest on Phryne, who smiled and waved.

“Not at all, father. She is very pleasant, in fact I wonder if Mr Robertson has been hasty in ending their relationship. They actually are well suited in my opinion.”

Matthews frowned at Phryne before turning to his daughter, “No, she’s got trouble written all over her and from what I saw last night she is fairly free and easy with her charms.”

"Strange, she struck me as quite devoted to him."

* * *

* * *

Note 7: The building of a bridge linking Sydney and the North Shore began in 1923 and finished in 1932. During the depression the construction of the bridge kept 1,400 men in employment. Miss Matthews has told a slight, but forgivable lie, whilst some of the steel did in fact come from Newcastle most was imported from the UK.

Note 8: The North Sydney Bears are one of the original Australian league clubs and they were founded in 1908. Mark Graham, who played there 1981 – 1988, remains the greatest rugby league player NZ has ever produced - Shaun Johnson (NZ Warriors) is the best looking ; )


	3. Equilibrium

Phryne had spent the better part of an hour in the foyer, already dressed for lunch. She had seen Matthews and his daughter leave for the golf course; now, she was waiting for Jack to emerge. As if on cue, he stepped out of the elevator and studiously ignored her. She waved at him, until, from pure awkwardness (people were starting to stare), he gave up and approached her.

“Yes?” he scowled.

“No need for that, Jack; they’ve left.”

He instantly dropped the scowl. “Waiting for Reynolds?”

She gave a warm smile. “No, waiting for you, he’s just my excuse for being here. I spoke to Miss Matthews earlier. You were right about her being direct by the way - she’d give Mac a run for her money - anyway, as I thought, there is an excellent reason she is immune to your charms.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, not following at first, “Oh... are you sure?”

“She was exceptionally forthright in her approach.”

“A potential blackmail weakness, especially if she is blatant about her preference. And obviously career-limiting.”

“Yes, and from what you have said, Matthews would not take kindly to a threat against his daughter. One other thing: I spoke to my policeman, as you call him...”

Jack smiled.

"...he says Matthews is the majority owner of the construction company working on this side of the bridge. Also, he confirmed all the evidence they need has been gathered from the site so there's no reason for it to remain closed."

"Broadbent?"

She nodded. Her eyes drifted over Jack’s shoulder. “Damn, my date's here, scowl at me Jack,” she said, leaning in as though she was going to kiss him.

Jack instinctively jerked back to avoid her lips. The woman sitting in front of him now was not his Phryne, just a shallow facsimile.

Her bitter laugh echoed through the foyer. “You better make up your mind. I won’t be around forever,” she said, standing to walk straight into Reynolds' arms.

“I thought it was over between you two,” Reynolds commented as he led her into the dining room.

“Let's just say I’m considering my options,” she replied.

“I hope you are including me as one of those,” he said suavely as he pulled out her chair.

“It really is too early to say. Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” she invited.

After thirty minutes of inane smiling and making suitably appreciative noises, she tried to steer the conversation to her topic of interest. “How do you think this week's game will go?” His response took another twenty minutes of mundane detail that made her consider piercing her eardrums - Jack really owed her big time for dumping this arrogant fool on her. “So you think the new coach is better than O’Kane?”

“He drinks a lot less, so that’s a start.”

“Oh, a drinker is he? Do you think he’s disappeared on a bender, then?”

“That, or decided to go off in search of that daughter of his.”

How interesting, she thought, he had a daughter. “Run away with some bloke he doesn't approve of, has she?”

Reynolds laughed, “If there had been even the remotest chance a man was involved in her disappearance, O’Kane would have been over the moon. No, it’s more likely she’s been kept hidden somewhere by Matthew’s daughter. These progressive women stick together like glue,” he said with a sneer.

Phryne broke a piece of French stick off, imagining it was Reynolds' neck. The motivations for the killing were becoming more complicated and Jack was not going to be happy with the direction in which things were heading.

* * *

Jack watched Matthews striding towards him from the golf course. He was glad he had been able to avoid playing. Golf held no interest for him, being just an expensive reason to go for a stroll, as far as he could see.

“John, glad you could make it. Let me introduce Dave Porter.”

Jack shook hands with the elderly man beside Matthews.

“Dave is looking to purchase the team from me. I just need to convince him that our luck is turning.”

Porter laughed good-naturedly, “If I wasn’t a believer in my own luck I wouldn’t be looking to buy a league team,” he assured them. "But that's just a bit of fun. What I really want is the construction business."

Jack made a mental note to ask Phryne to get her policeman to look into the financials of the team. He looked around, “Miss Matthews?”

Matthews looked pleased at his enquiry. “She’s still on the course. We only did nine holes; she doesn’t consider that a proper game. She’ll join us when she’s finished all eighteen.”

It occurred to Jack then that there was a very good reason Matthews was being so friendly, which meant either he was unaware of his daughter's preferences (though that seemed unlikely given the obvious closeness between the two), or it was possible, devoted father that he was, he hadn’t thought it through. Either way, it was a complication he didn't need. “If you'll excuse me gents, I’ll go join her.”

There was probably nothing he could have said that would have made Matthews happier.

Jack wandered along the paths and found her on the 13th hole.

“Come to romance me, Mr Robertson?” she asked without looking up from her ball.

Jack waited until she had taken her stroke. “No, I only just realised how it might look from your perspective and wanted to let you know that I have no intention of forcing my attentions on you.”

She actually stopped, looking up at him. “Well, there is clearly more to you than I thought. No wonder Philly is in love with you.”

He shrugged, wishing desperately that that wasn’t just part of Phryne’s cover story.

“The two of you are actually well suited, you should reconsider your decision.”

“I’m afraid that the differences between us are too great.”

She measured up her shot, “I think people are often driven to be what others expect rather than what they would really like to be. Having someone who loves you for who you are makes a hell of a lot of difference. I would be a completely different person if my father didn’t accept me as I am.”

“Philly told me of your conversation. It’s a lonely life you’ve chosen,” Jack remarked as he picked up her golf bag and followed her to the next tee.

When they got there she rifled through the clubs to find the right driver, seemingly unsurprised by his revelation of Phryne's lack of discretion. “I’d rather be on my own than compromise. You're the same, I’ve seen you look at Philly. Do you seriously want me to believe that you’ll settle for anything less than her?”

Jack was surprised to hear himself answer, “You’re right, if I can’t have her, I won’t bother having anyone.”

“What would it take for you to _have_ her, I wonder,” she paused, lining up her club.

“Balance,” he replied, “I need to know that we can find a balance that keeps us both happy and on an even keel. I might not get everything I want and she may be the same, but if we each get enough, I think it could work.”

She nodded, “Sounds simple enough.” She struck the ball and they watched it disappear down the green.

* * *

When Jack returned to the hotel he found Phryne sitting in the foyer. She had changed again, ready for an evening on the town. His heart sunk at the thought of her spending more time with Reynolds. Though he accepted the need for her to gain his confidence, he would have enjoyed an evening with her on his arm, here in a city where he wasn’t a police officer.

“Go get changed, Jack, and meet me here in thirty minutes,” she whispered as she walked past him, pressing a match box emblazoned with _The Ambassadors Cafe_ in his hand.

He didn’t get a chance to reply but tightened his fingers around the box, went straight to his room, changed and left by the back entrance rather than risk running into Matthews. Tonight the case could look after itself - it was after all supposed to be a balance.

She was at the bar when he walked into the club. There was a man already beside her and at least two others keeping a watching eye on her. The moment she saw him though, she excused herself and came to him, placing her hand on his arm. “So, tell me, Jack Robinson, why have you never offered to take me dancing?”

“Back home, every place you dance at would empty within sixty seconds of me walking in, Miss Fisher.”

"You have a point," she conceded, "so tonight you will have to make up for all the dances in Melbourne we can never have." She indicated a table in a dark corner where they had no option but to sit close. “But business first: O’Kane has a daughter and she’s gone missing. Reynolds believes Miss Matthews is hiding her. And he knows her interests are strictly in the fairer sex.”

“Hmm, that could make things difficult for her. I can believe she’s hiding her but I don’t think they are lovers.”

Phryne raised her eyebrows.

“I was subjected to another of her frank discussions earlier today." he explained. "Also, Matthews is selling the team and his construction business. Here’s the name of the preferred buyer." He handed her a note, "Can you have a chat with your policeman, see if he can dig up anything on the financials of the club and the buyer?”

Phryne took the note and placed it in her bag. “My lunch with Reynolds was not a great deal of fun, Inspector, and I’m meeting him tomorrow for a drink at some club function.”

“If it counts for anything I am not keen on Miss Mathews and her horribly insightful comments. Shall I arrange to be at the function too?” he asked, pleased when she nodded her agreement. “Good. If you have nothing more on the case what say we put that to the side.” He stood holding out his hand, “Shall we dance, Miss Fisher?”

She smiled as she stood, “I was honestly starting to think you would never ask, Inspector.”

* * *

“Miss Matthews.” Jack approached her as she waited for her father to join her for breakfast. “I have a favour to ask.”

She looked at him with interest.

“I’ve been thinking… about Philly and… well, I’d like to give it another go.”

She smiled.

“But she’s going on another date with Reynolds to this afternoon’s function…”

“And you were wondering if I could get you in?’

Jack nodded.

“And if I do, you plan to declare yourself to Philly?”

Jack nodded again.

“Meet me at four o’clock, down here.”

“Thank you.”

As he passed Matthews on his way out he was given a wink. “Will I see you later today?”

“Yes, Miss Matthews and I will be at the function after practice.”

“Good work.” He slapped Jack on the back, striding off before Jack could say anything more.

Jack wondered what he should do next. Phryne would be out most of the morning conducting her enquiries, so he went back to his room and changed clothes. Slipping out the back door, he headed down to the bridge construction site. He had yet to see where O’Kane’s body had been found and he was starting to doubt Broadbent's information.

* * *

Scaling the fence, Jack scanned the site for points of reference from Broadbent’s file notes, recognising the shed come office behind which the shallow grave had been dug. Beside it stood a pile of loose gravel. Jack walked around it, wondering. It struck him as odd that the body had been so poorly hidden. It would have made far more sense had they covered the body with the gravel. Perhaps they wanted the body to be found? At this point the sole connection between O’Kane and the site where his body was found was Matthews - much as he liked the man, he had to admit it was not looking good. He heard a car pull up at the gate and ducked down behind the office just in time. He watched as Matthews climbed out of the car and unlocked the gate. Having driven in, he sat in the car waiting. A few minutes later another car drove in and parked beside him. A man got out and came to stand by Matthews' door. Matthews wound down the window.

“I’m here, what do you want?”

“Bit of gratitude wouldn’t hurt, for a start,” the man observed as he lit a cigarette.

“Gratitude! For what? Dumping a dead body on my construction site so it's closed down by the police?” Matthews did not sound happy.

“You know the price to make this all go away…”

“I have told you already, I do not want anything to do with you,” Matthews barked.

“Too late for that,” the man sneered. “You owe us.”

“I never asked for this.” His tone was defensive now. “I didn’t know who those lads were and this is not what I wanted.”

The man flicked his cigarette away. “You wanna’ talk to that daughter of yours. Ain’t she a lawyer? She’ll tell you – ignorance is no defence. See you later and make sure you bring the goods.” Laughing, the man returned to his car and left.

Matthews sat motionless in his car.

Jack mulled over what he had just witnessed. Matthews had somehow got tangled up with the gangs and needed a way out. Perhaps… if he was prepared to testify against them? Just as Jack was about to approach him, the car started and he drove away.

* * *

Jack paced back and forth in his room. He hadn’t seen Phryne since this morning and he was starting to worry. It was clear now the gangs were pulling the strings and the offer to remove inconvenience suggested police involvement. Using Phryne as the go between with the local police didn’t seem that clever now. What if her cover story had been exposed? They could have her somewhere…

A gentle tap at the door had him rushing towards it as she let herself in. “Are you alright?” his eyes conducting a quick visual check for injuries, whilst his hands rested lightly on the top of her arms.

“I think so, though the buttons on this dress were challenging without Dot’s assistance.”

Jack pulled his hands back and stepped away realising how strange his behaviour must seem to her. “Sorry… I…”

“You worry about my safety, Inspector? This is not a surprise to me,” she teased gently, “but tell me what has brought this latest concern on?”

He told her about the conversation he had overheard.

Tilting her head, in a way she had seen him do more times than she cared to remember, she pointed out, “Reckless, Jack - disappearing on your own like that.”

He looked embarrassed, knowing her criticism was fully justified.

“Don’t worry, you're bound to make a mistake here and there.” She stepped into him. “Just don’t let it become a habit, remember we’re a team now.” She ran her hands down his lapels and back up, letting them rest there as she held his gaze.

He swallowed, knowing this was exactly what he wanted, them to be a team, in every sense.

“I have a theory about police corruption…” she stepped back, all business again, “you said yourself it was politics that had you assigned to the case, but what if it was more about having someone unassigned?”

His eyes narrowed.

She continued, “Broadbent knew O'Kane's daughter was missing. That's another key fact, along with the body being found on land worked by Matthews' construction company, which he chose not to share with you. Plus, the man is far too good-looking for his own good.”

Oh, so she had noticed then. “What about your contact at the station, can he be trusted?”

“Definitely. He’s slow, methodical and I doubt he has the imagination to be involved in corruption.” A frown forming she gave Jack a worried look. “No doubt that’s why Broadbent made him your contact, as he’s equally unlikely to have an original thought. His paperwork is excellent though; you’d like it - a lot.”

It wasn’t perfect, but her intuition was generally reliable. “Alright, let’s assume he’s not working with Broadbent.”

She nodded. “Did you get an invite to this afternoon’s function?”

“Yes, turns out Miss Matthews is quite the romantic at heart and so, provided I declare my intentions to you, she is quite happy to assist.”

Phryne looked very pleased, “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

* * *

 The next time Jack saw Phryne was at the hotel across the road from the construction site, where she was spinning across the dance floor in Reynolds' arms looking as if there was nowhere in the world she would rather be.

“Looks like you’re finally rid of her,” Matthews said as he handed Jack a drink.

“I doubt it, but that’s not what I’m thinking about.”

“Oh?”

“Look, we both know that your daughter hasn’t the slightest interest in me.” Jack let the statement hang, waiting to see how Matthews would react. To his surprise the man calmly took another drink of his beer.

“You’re a perceptive man, John, I should have realised it wouldn’t take you too long to work it out.” Matthews threw a glance at his daughter sitting with the coach and other members of the management team. “Is it so wrong of me, to want someone to take care of her when I’m not around?”

Jack shook his head, “Of course not, but I think she may want to have some say on who that person will be.”

“She’ll pick some fool girl like O’Kane’s daughter, when what she needs is a liberal minded man like yourself who recognises her genius and will respect her… choices. A help mate. It’s not love but it could be very close.”

“I don’t disagree but I still say she won’t have me.”

Matthews nodded and sighed, “I dare say you’re right.” He looked across at her. “I’ve sold the team and the construction business to Porter. The paperwork went through earlier today. That’ll give her a significant cash fund to invest. She’ll never have to work, though I suspect she will…”

“You’ve provided for her well; she’s very lucky.”

Matthews snorted, “No, if she was lucky she would have been born a man.”

They stood side by side in companionable silence watching Phryne sparkle.

“You’re in love with that girl, you know?”

“I know,” Jack admitted.

Matthews slapped him on the back, “Good luck, mate.” And he walked away.

An hour or so later Miss Matthews came to stand by him. “Building up your courage?”

He turned to her, “I’ve told your father that we won’t be pursuing a romantic entanglement.”

She chuckled. “Is that what he hoped?”

“Out of concern for your future.”

She sighed. “How sweet. Unnecessary, but still sweet. I’ll be sure to tell him off gently. Has he come back? I haven’t seen him for a while. And have you spoken to Philly yet?”

Jack scanned the room for Phryne. She had been here just moments ago… there was Reynolds but he was on his own. His heart clenched. Turning to Miss Matthews, he asked, voice low and urgent, “When did you last see your father?”

“Nearly thirty minutes ago. He was with a man I have never seen before. He didn’t look happy.”

Worried, Jack described the man he had seen at the construction site earlier in the day.

“Yes, that was him. He said they were just walking over to the site office to pick up some paperwork.”

* * *

 Jack and Miss Matthews moved cautiously towards the construction site office. Jack spotted Phryne’s shoes hidden behind some tools leaning against a shed; she must have removed them so she could move silently. His eyes searched desperately for her but found nothing. He wasn’t sure whether to hope she was in the office or not. A hand squeezed his arm and he looked across to see that Miss Matthews had seen the shoes, too. With a sense of foreboding he moved towards the office, listening for voices inside; hearing nothing he opened the door to find it empty. Looking around he found an earring. No doubt she had managed to leave it as evidence she had been there. Picking it up and clenching his fist around it, he went back outside.

“John!” Miss Matthews called him over, pointing up at the curve of the bridge above them. “Can you see them? Philly and father are up there, with that man.”

He scanned the scaffolding until he saw the flutter of her red scarf where the arch spanned over the water. He glanced at Miss Matthews, “Get the police. Tell them Inspector Robinson needs them, now!”

She repeated back, “Inspector Robinson?”

“Yes.” Jack was already half way to the base of the bridge. “Tell them Miss Fisher is in danger.”

Jack climbed up to the walkway along the lower arch, never taking his eyes from her. He prayed that when he got there he would be of some use.

* * *

Phryne struggled against the man who was dragging her behind him. Finally, he stopped walking and turned his gun from Matthews to her. “I have no idea who you are, you nosey cow and I really don’t give a damn whether I push you off this bridge now or later.”

Catching the warning look Matthews gave her, she stopped resisting.

When they got over the water, he forced Matthews to climb over the guardrails of the platform onto the spans between the arches. Phryne looked down at the dark water below them and immediately wished she hadn’t.

“You were supposed to bring the coaching notes,” the man shouted angrily at Matthews. “If you’re not going to play the game, you’re no good to me.”

“Then I’m no good to you,” Matthews replied calmly.

Phryne could feel the gunman shaking with rage, and even as she admired Matthews for his stance, she doubted it’s wisdom. Her concern was proven correct when she felt herself dragged forward, a gun rammed against her temple.

“Still feeling noble?” the man taunted him. “Play the game, or say goodbye.”

Phryne looked directly at Matthews, trying to guess his likely reaction. He looked unfazed.

“She’s just some bird one of the players picked up a couple of nights ago. I don’t even know her name. I’m hardly likely to sully the reputation of myself and my daughter for a random woman,” Matthews pointed out reasonably.

The grip on her arm tightened and then, “Shit!” He flung her away and began to yell at Matthews. “All you need to do is fill the hole left by O’Kane. Just give us the game plan so the other team can be prepared, it’s not hard, you’ll be rewarded. We'll get Broadbent to allow the site to re-open and there will be money. Why are you making this so hard…” he was pacing back and forth now, waving his arms (and the gun) wildly as he did.

Phryne, blocked from getting back to the ground, found a corner as far from him as possible, making herself as small as she could. It occurred to her that his behaviour was not rational and he may have been overindulging in some of the gang's main money maker. Either way, she had no intention of drawing his attention back to her, not until she was out of choices. She calculated she had left the party fifteen minutes ago. Jack would have noticed by now, might even be somewhere on the bridge. The thought gave her comfort. She’d wait as long as she could before doing anything rash.

Matthews, however, had no such notion. When the gunman turned his back he flung himself forward over the guardrail, grappling for the gun. Strong and wiry, and, most importantly, not off his head with cocaine, at first he appeared to have the upper hand.

A gun shot rung out and Phryne hunkered down even further. Looking across, it seemed neither man had been hit and their struggle continued. Then she glimpsed a widening blossom of red on Matthews' side. It didn’t slow him down, though, and the gun went off again. This time the gangster went staggering back in slow motion, overbalanced on the guardrail and toppled over the side of the bridge. She looked up at Matthews.

“Shit!” he held a blood-soaked hand up as though not quite believing it. “That hurt a hell of a lot more than being hit by a German bullet.”

“Closer range?” Phryne suggested, from where she was still huddled.

He looked at her. “Fair point.”

“Shall we?” she nodded her head back towards the base of the bridge.

He turned his head to look. “I might just stay here.” He climbed back over the guardrail.

She stood. “Are you sure?”

“You’re an intelligent woman, Miss Robinson, he was just a representative. They’ll send someone to finish the job.”

“You could go to the police, explain…”

“We would spend the rest of our lives in hiding. It's my own fault, once you run with the wolves they never let you go. And anyway, there's always the possibility I might hang…” he looked down at the blood now freely flowing down his side, "...plus, this doesn't look like it's going to stop bleeding any time soon."

Phryne followed his eyes. It was bad. “Your daughter?”

His voice shook and he started to sway, struggling to remain conscious. “O’Kane knew we’d taken in his girl after he'd tried beating some sense into her - she was a bloody pulp when he'd finished. Poor lass will carry those scars for the rest of her life. I knew it would mean trouble, but?" his attempt at shrugging nearly saw him topple, but he managed to grab hold of a strut. "He began to threaten me, wanted the girl back, said he had enough proof of immoral behaviour to have Angel kicked out of law school, make sure she’d never be able to enter any profession. I wanted to scare him off, perhaps give him some scars of his own. I never meant them to kill him though; can you make sure she knows that?” He looked at her beseechingly, “And this… don’t tell her? Just say we fought, I got shot, I died? Say it was quick?”

Phryne nodded, “She's lucky. If my father loved me one tenth the amount that you love her... my life would have been very different.”

He shook his head. “You don’t need your father.” He looked down to where Jack was just coming into view. He let go of the strut and fell into the deep water of the Sydney Harbour.

“Phryne!” Jack’s panicked cry reached her as he ran towards her.

“I’m alright, Jack.” She looked down through the metal at the dark water below, where Matthews had disappeared. “I wouldn’t mind a hand getting back to solid ground though.”

When Jack reached her, he slipped his jacket across her shoulders and held her tight until she stopped shaking.

* * *

“Thank you, Miss Fisher,” Jack said politely as he closed the trunk of the car.

“For what, Jack? Forcing my way into your investigation? Getting myself kidnapped? Making you practically carry me off the bridge?” She was now standing on the pavement beside him.

He smiled. “It wasn’t all bad, after all you were rather helpful with the investigation side of things.”

Her face brightened. “Was I?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Of course you were. You always are," he winked, "It’s why I keep you around.”

“Is it?”

He reached out to grab her hand. “Yes, why else would I put up with you?”

She looked down at where their hands were joined. She squeezed his hand once before releasing it.

“Well, good night, Inspector,”

“Good night, Miss Fisher.” He walked her to the driver's side and held the door open as she climbed in. “Thank you for the loan of the car.”

She laughed, “I’m just sorry it didn’t produce any _opportunities_ ; it’s normally far more effective.”

He gazed into her eyes. “I wasn’t interested in opportunities.”

She tilted her head, returning the look thoughtfully. “None at all?”

“Maybe, there was one,” he admitted, unconsciously licking his lip, ‘but I found myself a bit off balance.”

Her eyes, which had been tracking the movement of his tongue, came back to his. “I admit to being slightly thrown, myself, at times.” As their eyes met she remembered something, "I still have your Zane Grey."

“Perhaps, you might return it in person one evening,” he suggested, "I have a bottle of cognac that needs drinking."

She raised her eyebrows and a small smile played across her lips. “I always imagined you drinking hot milk whilst you read."

He shrugged. "And I thought you'd prefer DH Lawrence." He smiled, "Shall I let you know when I'm off nights, Miss Fisher?"

"You make sure you do, Inspector.”

She started the car and drove away. Way too fast.

He turned and walked into the station. He wondered if Broadbent had actually cleared any of the files on his desk, and whether it would be rude to ask about them before he arrested him?

* * *

* * *

Note 9: The Ambassador's Cafe was built in the basement of the Stand Arcade by Sydney jeweller and well known man-about-town Percy Sydney Dawson after his eviction from the Wentworth Hotel following an incident involving a "lady in a low cut dress" and a "slightly drunk" party-goer. I imagine Phryne would have got on well with him (and Jack would have rolled his eyes.)

* * *

 

View of the bridge from downtown Sydney

* * *

 


End file.
